How Beastly Should Have Ended
by The Wuzzy
Summary: Kyle is back to normal. But can he convince the girl he loves that he and Hunter are one and the same? It's not going to be easy, especially when a bunch of aliens and criminals are, for some reason, out to kill him... Oneshot R&R


**How Beastly Should Have Ended**

Could this really be?

Hunter touched his face gingerly. Eyes – check. Nose – check. Mouth – check. All intact. And his skin felt smooth. No hideous, disfiguring scars. No dodgy sci-fi-warrior-monk-esque tattoos either.

Would it be too much to hope that…?

He poked his head experimentally.

Hair! He had hair! The damn stupid witch's curse was fina-blinking-lly broken. Hallelujah!

No longer was he a creepy bald guy who looked, at best, like a hardened ex-convict on the run from the NYPD, or, at worst, an alien freak from Mars on the run from a covert unit of the FBI. He was normal again (if you could call his stunning looks normal), and the face staring back at him from the glass was his own (and pretty damn attractive too, he admitted modestly). Kyle Kingson. Gorgeous, blond, and bearing a striking resemblance to Alex Pettyfer (entirely coincidentally, of course. Not that it harmed his pulling power), it was a face that caused females everywhere he went to have heart seizures, screaming fits, and to throw their undergarments at him. How he had missed it these dark months of looking like a weirdo and having to wear a hoodie everywhere, and not being hailed with a shower of lacy lingerie! He recalled telling Lindy he didn't feel ugly when he was around her. He snorted. Er, yeah right. He had felt ugly as sin. Seeing all that lovely hair made a man with a bald pate feel pretty sore about his lack of follicles, you know.

Man, was he glad to see his beautiful face again!

Suddenly, the world went into slowmo and violins began to play soppy music. He slowly stroked his face, leering disturbingly as he checked himself out. A passer-by vomited over the curb.

But wait, what was this? The violins squealed into silence.

His hair was different to how it had been last time he'd had it. It was distinctly shorter, as though he'd had a haircut. However, he hadn't had a haircut, obviously, seeing as how he'd been bald as an egg for the past year! Tutting, Kyle shook his head at the continuity failure. But who gave a crap – it looked good on him, and he was Kyle again!

"Yeaaaaaaaaaah boi!" he whooped, punching the air, and proceeded to do a little victory dance. A man walking past with briefcase turned to stare, and walked into a lamppost. Kyle didn't care, he had his face back and it was time to bust some moves!

He got through the Timewarp, Thriller, and the entire Grease Megamix twice, singing along merrily. Once he'd finished a rather manic rendition of Saturday Night Fever, he turned again to his reflection, slightly out of breath. "Who the man? You the man," he said, doing the L'Oreal hair flick. Then he pointed his fingers and clicked his tongue with a nudge of his chin. "Still got it," he grinned, and winked at himself.

Now all he had to do was convince Lindy that he was, in fact, the person she'd just snogged, despite the fact he looked totally different, and had no rational explanation for the change. But she'd believe him; who wouldn't want a boyfriend that looked like Alex Pettyfer? It was gonna be easy peasy.

Or so he thought.

The glass door opened next to him, and he jumped back. Lindy flew out, eyes wide. "Hunter!" she called.

"Lindy!"

She spun on the spot, dark curls whirling. "Kyle! Haven't seen you in a year, nice for you to suddenly decide to drop by and act like I exist, but I'm looking for someone…you haven't seen my boyfriend have you?"

"I _am_ your boyfriend."

Silence.

"Er, what?"

"Me. Boyfriend. You. Girlfriend. We. Go on dates and shizzle. You savvy?"

"I don't think so…now if you excuse me…" she began to walk off quickly, and Kyle hurried to follow, weaving between the pedestrians. She grabbed a harassed looking mother by the shoulder. "Have you seen my boyfriend? He looks a bit like an escaped convict really - "

"Oi!" said Kyle.

"He's six foot plus, kind of built, with a skin head, and loads of scars and tattoos all over his face."

The woman squeaked in horror, and clutched her toddler to her chest, which had started bawling.

"I'll take that as a no," sighed Lindy, and ran off. Kyle hastened to follow.

"I get it," he began.

"Well good, then maybe someday you can tell me where the heck you've been for a year, but not right now because - "

"I met someone."

"Well goody blimming gum drops for you!"

"I know right?" Kyle squealed, then collected himself. He cleared his throat and put on his huskiest, most seductive voice. "She reminds me of you. And she showed me that love can change you. Do you think love can change you?"

"Of course. Possibly. Maybe. No."

"Good, then you'll believe the story I'm about to tell you." Somewhere, the violins resumed their romantic melodies. Get in, thought Kyle, Operation Sweet-talk Lindy was on a roll. "It is a tale of tragedy, of love and romance of epic proportions, of destiny and fate!"

Lindy stopped and turned around, staring at him. Good, it was working. He gazed at her from under half lowered eyelids. "It's about a guy. Good looking on the outside, sex god actually…and ugly on the inside. Well, that's down to personal opinion. But anyway, there's a curse…and love…love changes _everything_." The violins reached a crescendo. "But what if it wasn't a story…what if it were…_true?_" He continued to smoulder at her for another ten seconds, just to make sure.

Silence.

"Did you rehearse that speech?"

"No, I'm just naturally gifted."

"It was the biggest pile of melodramatic crap I have ever heard in my entire life."

The violins squealed to a halt.

"That was the most barf-worthy cliché-ridden soliloquy I have ever had the misfortune to experience, and if you thought you could sweet talk me with that, you are the biggest moron I've ever met. And whoever wrote this script is the biggest moron I have ever had the fortune of _not_ meeting! You have done nothing except entirely re-establish my previously held view that you, Kyle Kingson, are an arrogant, smarmy, ridiculous jerk not even worth talking to. My boyfriend, on the other hand, is kind, sensitive, and smoking sexy hot. Sci-fi warrior monks are so in right now!"

"I'm kind and sensitive! Can you not tell by the expression on my face and the fire in my eyes that I'm being genuine?"

"No, because you have the same expression on your face that you've had for this _entire film_ so far, the expression that a plank of wood makes when it is bored, i.e., no damn expression whatsoever.I've known tree-trunks with more fire in their eyes than you!"

"Well, shucks," said Kyle. "I thought I had it in the bag."

"Well, tough, you don't. Hunter!" Lindy called again, and jumped off the pavement into the road, Kyle at her heels.

"I _am _Hunter!"

"Sorry, what?"

"I'm Hunter! Your boyfriend! You know, the weird looking guy with the moving tattoos, who kidnapped you and kept you in a greenhouse for seven months!"

"Can't hear you!" yelled Lindy, sidestepping an 18-wheeler as it roared past, horn blaring. Kyle flung himself out of the way, unfortunately into the path of an oncoming BMW. The car swerved, and with a squeal of brakes, crashed into a van another lane. He watched in consternation as three more cars smashed into the pile up, a yellow mini bouncing over the bonnet of a Fiat Multipla, before flipping elegantly in the air twice and coming to a calamitous rest, roof down, on top of a taxi. For a moment nothing happened, then all its doors and windows fell off.

"Sorry," winced Kyle, as the drivers began clambering out of the smoking wreckage of their vehicles, shaking their fists. Fortunately their hideous swear words were drowned out by the sound of several car alarms.

"Hold it!" screamed Lindy suddenly, stopping dead and throwing her hands out - Kyle ran straight into her. Several cars slammed on the brakes and screeched to their respective halts inches from where Kyle and Lindy stood in the middle of a traffic disaster.

"What is it?" gasped Kyle. "Are you hurt?"

Lindy turned to him, and smiled. She pulled out her phone.

"I have his number. I can call him." She clapped a hand to her forehead. "D'uh! Why didn't I think of that before?"

Kyle groaned.

Lindy pressed a few keys on the pad. Kyle felt his phone buzz as it rang from his pocket. Lindy looked around excitedly at the furious Manhattan motorists, who were advancing with murderous looks on their faces. "He's here!" she beamed.

"You can say that again. He's standing right in front of you." Kyle pulled his phone from his pocket, and showed the 'receiving call' screen to her. Her grinned coquettishly. "Hello, darling."

Lindy stared. Her lip trembled. The world went into slowmo, again._ Now_ she would finally understand. She would believe him. They would kiss, and live happily ever after. Obviously.

She raised a finger and pointed at him. "You…have…his phone?"

"Well, yes."

"And…those…are…his clothes?"

"Yes," said Kyle, slightly confused, "but I _am - _"

"HELP!" screamed Lindy. "HELP ME! HE'S MUGGED MY BOYFRIEND! HEEeeEEeELP!"

"But I AM Hunter!"

"HELP ME! MY BOYFRIEND'S BEEN MUGGED! IMPOSTER! IMPOSTER!"

"I AM your boyfriend!" yelled Kyle. "Hunter IS ME!"

"YOU'VE MURDERED HIM," shrieked Lindy, "YOU'VE MURDERED MY BOYFRIEND AND STOLEN HIS IDENTITY!"

"No I have _NOT_ murdered your boyfriend! I AM YOUR GODAMN BOYFRIEND!"

"MURDERER! MURDERER!" she began punching him repeatedly in the stomach, though it didn't stop her screaming. "YOU EVIL MURDERER! I'LL KILL YOU FOR THIS! MURDERER! MURDEREEEER!"

This is ridiculous, thought Kyle, as Lindy began to smack him round the face. Around him, the motorists, who before looked as though they were about to commit murder themselves, were pulling out their own mobiles in concern. Soon enough the police would be here.

Kyle wondered where exactly it had all gone wrong.

"Hey, Hunter," said a familiar voice, "or should that be Kyle?"

Kyle turned, so now Lindy was slapping the back of his head._I_UHuHHhhjklrd'fjaskldfasdjj

"Will?" He'd never been so relieved to see his blind tutor. "How did you know it was me?"

Lindy stopped attempting to beat Kyle up, and instead burst into tears. "I want my Hunty-wunty," she sobbed. Kyle and Will ignored her.

Will held up a small tracking device.

"Where on earth did you get that?" said Kyle.

"Ah," said Will. "Yes. The thing is, I may have possibly lied. I'm not actually a tutor."

"Wha…what?"

"I'm secretly an undercover agent for the CIA. I was assigned to you for your protection."

"Protection from…what?"

"Them," said Will simply.

At that moment, three matt black trucks rolled up on the left and a fleet of equally black limos cruised in on the right. The motorists scattered as the doors of the trucks slammed open and a group of tall, pale men in floor length leather jackets jumped gracefully to the ground. They were all bald and sported curious facial tattoos. The limo doors (each embellished with a silver scorpion) opened and twenty five men and one woman piled out. The woman was wearing a leather cat suit, and the men were all pretty hench looking, dressed in tuxedos and dark wrap around sunglasses. They also each wielded a Thompson semi-automatic machine gun. Likewise, the weird men in the leather jackets held huge weapons that looked an awful lot like laser blasters.

"What have you done with the body of my beloved?" sniffled Lindy.

"Who the hell are they?" said Kyle.

"Oh, just a bunch of Mogadorians," said Will breezily, "and the other lot are Scorpia."

"What? Who?" spluttered Kyle. "What do they want, Will?" He didn't like the look of all those weapons, and the looks on the faces of the Scorpia people and the Moga-whajammacallits as they advanced towards them was making him feel queasy.

"I lied about that too. Incase you haven't noticed, you look an awful lot like Alex Pettyfer. So, obviously, they all want you dead."

Lindy, forgetting that she thought he was a murderer, clutched Kyle's arm in fear. "I don't see what Alex Pettyfer has to do with anything," she squeaked.

"Neither do I," said Will.

"They must just all really hate him," quavered Kyle.

"Yup, pretty much. Which is why we have to prove to them that you aren't him," said Will. He walked slowly, tapping ahead with his stick, towards the two clear leaders of the vicious group beginning to encircle them: the dark haired woman in the leather, and an especially tall Mogadorian. Seeing him up close, Kyle began to suspect he wasn't actually human.

"Er…hello, Scorpia associates, and Mogadorians…so nice to meet you…my name's Will." He held out a hand. The woman curved her lip and raised one perfectly shaped eyebrow. The Mogadorian smiled evilly, revealing wickedly pointed teeth. Will lowered his hand awkwardly.

"Just wanted to let you know," he continued delicately, "that I know what this looks like. And I can explain. I know you all see a tall, blond, Alex Pettyfer look-alike, well, it isn't him. I can prove it. His name is Kyle! And I'm totally trustworthy. I work for the American government…see?" He reached inside his jacket and held up his wallet, which hung open so they could all see his warrant card.

"So sorry, gorgeous," the woman purred, "but the boy has to die. Nobody crosses Scorpia and lives."

"You fools send a blind man to negotiate?" growled the Mogadorian, who for some reason sounded as though he was speaking through a voice changer. "We will tear him apart and the rest of his kind too, until none stand in the way of the Mogadorian conquest of Earth!" He threw back his head and gave a hideous, guttural laugh. The rest of the Mogadorians joined in, and the Scorpia mercenaries smirked.

"I see," said Will. "Terribly sorry about all this. I shan't bother you anymore."

The assembled ranks of the enemy turned their weapons to Kyle.

"Is that it?" yelled Kyle, "You're just going to let them kill me?"

"He's blind," wailed Lindy. "There's nothing he can do!"

Will turned to face Kyle. "Ah. I may possibly have been lying about that too."

"Huh?"

"I have, in fact, been looking at your hideous face, and seeing it, for the past however many godforsaken months. The new you isn't much of an improvement I'm afraid."

"But…I don't…"

Will took of his sunglasses and looked at Kyle. "I'm not blind. I can see."

And with that, he began to lay about the Mogadorians with his walking stick.

"Take that!" he yelled. "And that, you filthy alien scum!" Kyle and Lindy stared in amazement as he felled them left right and centre. "Oh, and by the way," he shouted, from the middle of the screaming throng, the Mogadorians vaporising each other in their desperation to vanquish their new foe. "My name's not Will. I lied about that too!" He paused to crack one Mogadorian over the head with his stick and kick another in the crotch. "My name is BARNEY!"

"Quick!" screeched the Scorpia woman. "Shoot the b- "

There was a clanging noise, and the woman crumpled to the ground. Kyle and Lindy heard a piercing scream of fury as a small dark figure shot like a bullet into the midst of the tuxedos and began beating them all around the head with a frying pan.

"Do – not – ever – attempt – to – hurt – Kyle – ever – again!" shrieked Zola, in time to the rhythm of her blows. With well placed smacks, she was felling men twice her height, and knocking away their weapons. Then, a familiar figure with a blonde beehive in stiletto heels and too much eye make-up ran past Kyle and Lindy to join the fray, cackling manically, black dress billowing.

"Is that Kendra?" said Kyle. Then, to his amazement, another, identical girl, this one with black hair and a white dress appeared dashed in from the other side. "Wait for me, sister!" she shrieked.

"Ther are _two_ of them?"

The girl spun on her tottering heels and fixed them with a piercing stare. "Of _course_ there are two of us," she hissed. "I'm Kendra's twin sister, Grunhilda-Marietta-Toadtickler!" She ran off to join the battle.

Kyle and Lindy stared.

They continued to gaze in shock at the carnage as Barney, Zola, Kendra, and Grunhilda-Marietta-Toadtickler whirled through the amassed forces of evil, spinning, and jumping, dodging, kicking, and casting spells, rendering them senseless and worse. In a matter of minutes they stood, splattered in blood and breathing hard, on a huge pile of bodies. Not a single one remained standing.

"That was the most fun I've had in years," said Zola, as she wiped the bloodstained frying pan on her apron. Kendra and her twin high- fived each other, giggling madly.

"That'll teach 'em," grinned Barney, and twirled his walking stick. "And by the way, why do you always talk in a Jamaican accent?"

"Because this is a cliché," Zola said, in a distinctly American accent. "Why do you think you had to pretend to be blind?" She turned to Kyle. "We both did this so that we could invent sob stories that would provoke you to feel sympathy for us, thereby transforming you into a better person, and increasing your chances of not ending up looking an awful lot like a Mogadorian for the rest of your life."

"Oh," said Kyle.

"Kyle?" said Lindy softly. In the distance, police sirens wailed, rapidly approaching.

"Yes?" he said, gazing into her eyes. She gazed back.

"Can you play basketball?"

"Er…"

"And can you sing and dance in musicals?"

"Well…"

"And does your best friend have an afro?"

"I think I know where this is going," said Kyle, "but I'm afraid the answer is…no."

He wasn't good enough for her! His heart swelled with misery, and he braced himself for rejection.

"Thank God," said Lindy, "If you had just turned out to be Zac Efron in disguise again I'd have killed myself. You're Hunter, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said, overwhelmingly relieved that she _finally_ believed him (though he wasn't entirely sure why it had taken a bunch of homicidal aliens and internationally wanted criminals to convince her). He felt his heart swell with love and joy. Now he could be together forever with his true love, they could prance off into the sunset and make daisy chains, he could here the violins playing already -

She slapped him round the face. "Then why did you not tell me that _earlier?_"

Kyle spluttered in indignation. Then she kissed him.

It was wet. It was soppy. And it was very, very romantic. Barney, Zola, Kendra, and Grunhilda-Marietta-Toadtickler all cheered.

"Now let's get the hell out of here," said Barney. "I have a date with my boyfriend at six."

And they all lived happily ever after.


End file.
